The Attitude of Tom Riddle
by Junsui
Summary: When Voldemort is given a chance to live his life over again with no real memories of his many mistakes and only a faint feeling of his mother's love, will it be enough to prevent him from once again going down the path of darkness to his ultimate doom?
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: Anything that you recognize from the canon Harry Potter universe, I don't own. So please don't sue. Thanks, and enjoy:D**

**Prologue**

Lord Voldemort opened his eyes, surprised to find that he was lying in a rather undignified position on the ground. He slowly sat up, only to look down at himself and notice in shock that his body didn't look the same as it had when he last closed his eyes. Refusing to admit that he, Lord Voldemort, who planned everything down to the last detail only to have the imbeciles that labeled themselves his followers mess things up for him (he, of course, never made mistakes), was confused, he closed his eyes and thought back to what he remembered occurring last before he shut his eyes.

_They were in the field by the Riddle House; it's ghostly silhouette rose above what had become a battlefield. Even though Lord Voldemort had been confidently and openly using it for headquarters for some time now, the house looked as derelict and abandoned as ever. Why should he bother fixing the boarded windows? The ivy that crawled up the house looked almost as though it were straining to pull the woe begotten residence into the depths of the earth._

_Almost as if the sky sensed the mood, lightning flashes illuminated the scene as thunder crashed angrily, though the sky shed not a tear. And what scene was illuminated? One that would have been most odd to the muggle eye but could still easily be determined to be a fight. Spells flew left and right, you never knew what might hit you wherever you stepped. Unfortunate catchers of spells lay in heaps around the field, but what would have been strange to the muggle eye is that though screams of terror and pain could be heard, little blood could be seen. And rather than pointing familiar weapons at each other, these people were using sticks to shoot colored streams that caused people to fall, to scream, to cease to live._

_But the folk of Little Hangleton were blissfully unaware that this great fight for the survival of their very world was occurring a short walk from where they peacefully slept._

_Lord Voldemort surveyed the battle with glee. His side was winning! Soon his immortality would be assured forever, and he would no longer have to even consider that paltry thing called "death". Dumbledore had been a fool. The prophecy and Harry Potter had amounted to nothing. The boy wasn't even to be seen! Lord Voldemort threw back his head and cackled insanely, feeling happier than he could ever remember feeling...because the Dark Lord, who didn't even let those close to him call him by the nickname he himself had designed, didn't know what true happiness was._

"_Voldemort," a strong young voice called._

_Lord Voldemort whirled around and hissed when he saw a black-haired teenage boy facing him confidently with a red-haired teenage boy and a brown-haired teenage girl at his side._

"_You'll never win," he hissed, laughing with glee at their imminent failure._

"_That's what you think, Voldemort! You think your 'Horcruxes' will protect you, but we have destroyed them all. This is for love, Voldemort!"_

_And then the teenage boy, the Boy-Who-Lived, the one Chosen by prophecy, fired a spell at Lord Voldemort before he even had time to realize that his failsafe backups at life were gone._

His eyes snapped open in shock. It was impossible! His servants (or slaves) had failed him for the LAST time. LITERALLY. There was nothing he could even do to punish them now. He was…dead.

But…he had feared being dead for so long. As he gazed around at the plain field he was in, he tried to figure out…what was going on? What was he supposed to do now?

Randomly, out of nowhere, a mirror popped up. Suspiciously, Voldemort glanced around before stepping over to the mirror and gazing at himself. In shock, he saw an elderly man. There was vast amounts of gray and white streaking the remaining dark hairs, and dark mean eyes scowled out of a straight apathetic face with the same salt and pepper beard. After looking at the odd reflection for awhile, looking down at himself and up, he concluded that must be his reflection as he would have been if he had not torn his soul asunder. And when he thought about it, he suddenly realized that he felt…different. He felt…whole in a way he hadn't felt in years, mostly because he hadn't realized that was what he felt like before he had committed the acts of murder necessary to create Horcruxes.

"Do you like what you see, Tom?" a female voice asked behind him.

Voldemort had considered himself to be alone and whirled around, cursing himself for not paying more attention. Then he realized…what could they do, kill him again?

There was a young woman standing there in a flowing white robe. She had long dark hair and a pale plain face. But despite her plainness, she was a quiet lovely. Her eyes looked straight at him, solemn, serious.

"Who are you?" Voldemort snarled.

The woman flinched a little at his harsh tone before shaking it off and straightening. She looked at him with a look of such incredible, incredible sadness…and…that odd look that Voldemort saw in other people's eyes sometimes, the one that he had identified as _love_.

Sure, Voldemort had experienced people staring at him in admiration or like or lust…but he had never, not once in his whole life had anyone stare at him with a look of sincere and honest love. On the whole he decided he was glad about that for the feeling he got from it was rather disconcerting. "I'm your mother," the woman said.

"What?" Voldemort couldn't prevent himself from saying in shock. From what he had heard of his mother…the pureblood Merope Gaunt, who had wasted her blood purity on the muggle _Tom Riddle..._there was no way this woman could be her. Really, the only thing Merope had had going for her was the pureness of her blood. She hadn't been much to look at at all...lank hair and cross-eyed.

"Tom, Tom," the woman said in sorrow and disappointment. Voldemort felt strangely scolded. He had always felt like the people at the orphanage and Hogwarts hadn't possessed the RIGHT to scold him, but this was his mother…and he had obviously disappointed her. He didn't know how to feel about that. He had played a weird game with Lily Potter once upon a time, seeing if she'd pick her son over her life. It had strangely saddened him that Lily had loved her son so much. But this woman seemed to love him too despite his disappointing her.

"Why, baby? I'm sorry I went and left you, and that your father abandoned you too, but…you failed at your big test."

"What do you mean?" Voldemort demanded. He had never failed at anything...until now.

"Everyone is given trials, and what happens up here depends on how you react to them. Trials are fate…what you do as a result is not. Soooo many times you could've turned from your path," she stopped. "But you'll see."

"What do you mean?" Voldemort demanded again, hating that he was repeating himself and not threatening this woman. But it was his mother!

Merope held out her hand. "Come, Tom. I came to meet you and see you, but I'm not the one to explain all of this."

"Where are we going?" Voldemort asked suspiciously.

"We're going to your trial."

"Trial?!"

"Yes. Did you think there would be no consequences for what you have done?"

"I didn't even know this – here - existed!"

Merope shook her head. "They will explain. Baby, you have committed some of the most grievous of sins multiple times. But you did not commit the most grievous sin of them all yet. You have one chance."

"What?" Voldemort asked. He wasn't even pretending to be not confused anymore. He had feared death forever, and this was it. This was death. He was afraid. He was very afraid.

"Just take my hand, Tom."

Somewhat bothered by her continuous calling him Tom, Voldemort finally reached out and took his mother's hand for the first time since he'd been newly born. The feeling of love was like an electric shock, and when Voldemort looked up from his mother's hand to where they had come, he noticed they were no longer standing in the field with the mirror.

They were facing an amphitheater of seats filled with many, many people. But Voldemort couldn't see any of them clearly because the area where they were sitting was too bright.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," said a voice of such crystalline clarity that it was almost painful to hear.

Merope smiled at him, though the smile didn't reach her sad, sad eyes, and Voldemort wanted it to. She gave his hand a tiny little squeeze of encouragement and faded into the stands.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," the voice called again, and Voldemort felt compelled to answer although he had never felt a claim on that name.

"I am Tom Marvolo Riddle," he said weakly.

"Tom…" the voice said. Voldemort heard in the voice the same disappointed yet loving tone he had heard in his mother's. And even though he had no idea who this voice belonged to, he felt that same pang at having caused this voice disappointment.

"Yes?" he asked with a quaver in his voice.

"Tom, you have committed many of the most grievous of sins." There was silence, as though they were waiting for him to respond.

Voldemort thought briefly about playing dumb and pretending he didn't know what they meant by sins…but honestly, he did. It took an act of murder to unnaturally split the soul, and he knew he had committed - and ordered - murder many, many a time.

"So my mother told me," he finally said.

At this he felt a slight relaxing in the figures watching, but he didn't know why.

"You admit and confess to committing murder and ordering others to commit murder?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation.

"You confess to torturing others physically and emotionally and encouraging others to do the same?"

"Yes."

"You confess to corrupting others with deceit and lies?"

"Yes."

"You confess to tainting innocence?"

"Yes," Voldemort answered once again in a heavy tone. At each accusation he had felt heavier and heavier. He had indeed committed all of these offense. And he could now see that he had made the very reasons that he should fear death. There could be no forgiveness for these offenses. He was going to have to dwell on them forever. That was the way things worked, wasn't it?

"You took your chance," Voldemort heard a whisper of triumph and pride in a voice that he could have sworn sounded like his mother's. He recognized it already even though he had just barely heard it?

But as he registered her words he felt a small glimmer of hope…an entirely foreign feeling to him, who had always thought he held his own fate in his hands…spark and begin to glow.

There was the murmur of talking among the stands. Voldemort just stood and waited, hardly daring to hope, when the voice spoke again. "Tom, if you had denied your sins or argued against them, you would have been doomed. Those who are gathered here are all those who have been harmed in some way by your actions, excepting those who were doomed to suffer because of their own lack of repentance. They have all agreed to forgive you and give you one more chance."

Tom's, yes, TOM's heart leapt into his throat. Was it possible? He was so glad that he had chosen to tell the truth for once. What if his mother had not greeted him? What if she had not...loved?...him anyway?

"This is a highly unusual occurrence. Most people do not require a second chance because they do not injure enough people to have such widespread repercussions. They are able to make their amends simply if they so choose."

Tom, accepting the name his mother had given him due to her love of the man she had chosen to sire him, considered the possibilities. This time he could choose not to act on the prophecy! That would make a difference. He still hadn't completely registered and thought this whole situation through, when the voice spoke again.

"Tom." Tom looked up to the direction he thought the voice was coming from to demonstrate that he was paying attention. "You will not remember ANY of this, so the chances that you will once again fail...are great."

"What?!" he asked, more shocked than angered.

"We will help as far as we are allowed by the universal truth of agency and justice, but Tom...you must learn to make different choices yourself. It is going to be really hard. The trials set you by fate are difficult to overcome. But if you do...your reward will be the greater," the voice said in a loving and confident (in Tom?) tone.

"Come, Tom," he heard his mother's voice say. He turned to see her looking at him with pride and love shining from her eyes. She once again extended her hand. This time he did not hesitate to take it. He tried to resolve to at least remember his mother's love...so that he would not disappoint her again. Then the courtroom vanished, and Tom turned to watch a scene he was sure if he'd seen the first time, it would have made a difference in his life...

**A/N: This was inspired by Hamm on Wry's _The Judgment of Tom Riddle_ (part of his _Best Defense_ series. Very excellent, go read!). It was a one-shot, but I felt inspired to take it an entirely different direction and make a whole story.**

**Thoughts? Opinions? Suggestions? Eyebrow wiggles? That's what the purplish review button is for:)**


	2. Rebirth

**Rebirth**

"I've brought you back to where this all began," Merope said softly.

They stood outside the building that Tom recognized as the orphanage where he spent his early childhood. Although snow was falling furiously around them, he didn't feel any effect from the cold; he didn't even see his breath. It was night, and the street lamps glowed and flickered. The world was utterly still; no one was out in this weather.

Suddenly Tom's breath caught in his throat as he spotted a woman, clutching her belly heavy with child, struggling through the snow. She was not dressed for the weather and shivered violently. But she plodded determinedly up the stairs to the door. She sank to the ground in exhaustion before forcing her arm up and her hand into a weak fist to knock at the door.

Minutes passed with no response, and the woman that Tom recognized to be his mother was incredibly still. Finally she started and once again struggled to knock on the door, putting a little more force into it this time.

The door swung open so unexpectedly that Merope fell forward. The woman at the door, whom Tom recognized to be a younger version of Mrs. Cole, the woman who had been the matron for much of his time at the orphanage, gave a shriek.

"Help me," Merope said feebly.

Mrs. Cole (Tom wondered if she was MRS. Cole yet at that point) called for someone inside the building and began helping Merope stagger to her feet and into the building.

Tom looked at his mother, the one that had brought him here, with a questioning look on his face. She gestured for him to follow.

He followed them inside to a room where he witnessed the oddest thing a person can watch: his own birth. The labor was short, but due to Merope's already weakened condition, it entirely drained her.

"It's a boy!" he heard one of them finally call. In the distance the clock struck midnight sounding the New Year. Unlucky and a bad omen it was to be born right as the year was dying...

Mrs. Cole rushed over and took a pale silent baby boy from the man, probably a doctor, who had been assisting Merope through labor.

"He's so quiet. Is he alright?" she whispered in concern.

The doctor nodded with a puzzled look on his face. "Seems to be breathing alright despite the coloring, just not angry at coming to the world, I guess," he joked, turning back to Merope.

Merope didn't smile, only said, "Let me hold him before I die."

"I hardly think you need to be worrying about that," the doctor said with an arch eyebrow, obviously thinking her melodramatic.

Merope only held out her arms, pleading. Mrs. Cole consented and handed the quiet little bundle to his mother.

Merope weakly clutched him to her and gazed down at his pale little face. "I hope he looks like his papa," she said loud enough for Mrs. Cole to hear even though Merope wasn't really interested in talking to her. Mrs. Cole gazed at her, and Tom knew that she was thinking that would only help if the father looked better than the mother.

He felt sort of annoyed at this knowledge but was distracted when Merope spoke again, "Tom. His name is Tom, for his father." She paused for a moment, as though still indecisive before steeling herself. "And...Marvolo, like my father...his grandfather." She stared down at the tiny bundle in her arms. "Tom Marvolo Riddle," she said in a dazed voice of wonder.

Then she kissed him with cold white lips and whispered words to him so softly that the others in the room didn't hear. Because she spoke so close to her son, the others didn't even see that she was speaking. "I'm sorry, baby," she whispered. "I know someday you'll probably hate me for leaving you, but I'm sure your father will come to his senses soon and come to get you. It will be better for you then if I'm not around. I've struggled to survive long enough to bring you to the world, and now that you're here I want to stay...but I can't. I can't without magic. And I don't want magic anymore. But, my baby, you'll be so powerful, I just know it. You'll go to Hogwarts like I never did, and you'll be the smartest in your class...Slytherin's Heir. And you'll heal the Houses because you are half muggle," she stopped, exhausted. "I love you," she whispered.

Seeing that Merope's strength was failing, Mrs. Cole scooped the baby back up. "There, there," she soothed Merope. "You can hold him more when you wake up."

Merope smiled knowingly, her decision long made, and shook her head. She drifted off to sleep; her breathing slowed, and her body became entirely limp.

The others were so busy cleaning up they didn't even notice she had died until Mrs. Cole turned back to tuck the blanket up and gasped, "Oh!" She was silent before saying grimly. "Better call the undertaker. She's gone." Her unfeeling eyes moved to the quiet cradle and met the already aware eyes of Tom Marvolo Riddle. "Looks like the orphanage has another burden," she sighed. "Hope he stays quiet and not much of a bother since he won't get babied despite being one."

Tom said quietly to his mother, "You still die?"

"This is your trial, baby. I came before your time, so your actions had no impact on me...in the mortal realm."

Tom turned to look at his mother, stricken. "You thought I would heal the Houses?" He felt so ashamed knowing that he had not only solidified the ancient division but had almost completely destroyed the school his ancestor had helped found.

"I also thought your father would come looking for you. I had sent him a message...but that's between him and me," she said gently.

"I killed him," Tom said, an odd glint in his eye.

"You killed him last time," his mother corrected gently. She hesitated and said, "Here is where I leave you, my baby." She pulled him down and gave him a kiss on the forehead and embraced him. But unlike her dying mortal self, this time it was warm. "This time you'll remember that I love you; there will always be that sense at the back of your mind. The same sort of sense that kept Harry Potter from going bad." Tom stared at his mother in amazement. "I'll try to do better by you this time, baby," she said huskily.

And since this was the only chance he would get for a very long time, Tom hesitantly and with jerky, rusty motions did something he had never done before: he hugged his mother. "Good-bye...I'll try to make you proud...to not disappoint you this time."

His mother pulled back and said with shining eyes, "I know." And then they both faded, one back to the eternal realm and the other into the consciousness of his newly born self.

**A/N: My main beta is in the process of moving, so I didn't get a chance to have her read over this chapter either. I went back and fixed a few minor errors in the first one, but as always, if you notice any typos, feel free to point them out.**

**I know this chapter isn't as long as the last one, but I decided to just do this scene in this chapter and start Tom's second chance at life in the next one. Because, remember, he isn't really going to have any memories of his former life?**

**I hope it wasn't too confusing to follow, and I took some inspiration from a similar scene in_ Oliver Twist_. Please let me know if it was too confusing so I can fix it. Hope you enjoyed!**

**Random sidenote: I recently found a song that I feel really applies to Tom Riddle. It's called _Dead Boy's Poem _by Nightwish. Just giving you guys a heads up!**


	3. Oddities

**Oddities**

Tom sat, silent and observing. He was always observing, and because he was silent, he often learned a lot of things because people didn't realize he was paying such close attention. He rarely asked questions right out; he had learned that people usually didn't bother answering the questions of children honestly if they deigned to answer at all.

His habit of being silent always bothered Mrs. Cole, the matron. She knew how to handle all of the other children because they were all average and the same...and children. But Tom...Tom was like a little mini-adult. She didn't know how to treat him, and so she often just ignored him instead.

Tom never seemed to play with the other children. It wasn't that he thought that he was above them, but their little games never really interested him. He loved to learn though.

He had been a funny, silent baby. Mrs. Cole had thought that as soon as he turned into a toddler that would change. But instead he'd simply grown from an oddly silent baby into an oddly silent toddler. For a long time Mrs. Cole had thought he was mute because he didn't start talking at the normal age. He never went through the stage of learning to talk through failed attempts with adults helping him along; oh no, right from the first time he had spoken it had been a complete...simple but nonetheless complete...sentence. Mrs. Cole now figured it was just because he wanted the talking thing mastered perfectly before trying it. He was like that with everything, never wanting help from anybody...probably thinking they didn't care. Which, sadly, was often true, but most orphans didn't figure that out so quickly.

He had followed her around, but instead of clambering for her attention as a normal following kind of child would, he simply followed and watched and observed. And then one day, the first thing he ever spoke was, "What are you doing?"

It had nearly given Mrs. Cole a heart attack. "What?!" she gasped.

Toddler Tom stared at her levelly and repeated, "What are you doing?"

"What do you mean, what am I doing?" she said in irritation to cover up her fright and astonishment. "I'm reading."

"What's reading?" he asked solemnly.

She rolled her eyes, considering telling him that it wasn't something he would understand, and then questioned whether that was true or not. After all, he had just spoken a complete sentence on his first try.

"These things are letters. They form words. Words are what you say when you speak. So it's like speaking recorded permanently."

Tom looked to be pondering this, and Mrs. Cole returned to her task, thinking the thing was finished when once again Tom interrupted her thoughts. "I want to read," he said.

Mrs. Cole stared at him. "You'll learn to read eventually," she said dismissively.

"When?" he queried forcefully.

Mrs. Cole sighed. "Here, I'll show you the ABCs. If you manage to learn all those, then I'll teach you to read. If not you'll have to wait and do it with everyone else." She thought Tom looked a little annoyed at this, but he remained silent and attentive as she quickly ran through the ABCs to placate him.

She handed him the primer and said, "When you've got all that down, come back to learn more."

Since she'd been so haphazard about it, she expected that Tom would try and get bored, and that would be the end of it until everyone else learned to read. But this was Tom Riddle, and she soon learned never to apply things of normal children to him.

A couple of days later Tom came back to her and held the primer out to her. Mrs. Cole stared at it, and Tom said simply, "Now teach me to read."

Mrs. Cole raised her eyebrows. "You really know all the alphabet already?" she asked skeptically.

Tom nodded angrily and proceeded to prove it to her. "Now teach me to read," he said again, forcefully.

Mrs. Cole raised her eyebrows again, but it was different this time in that it wasn't skeptically raising eyebrows; it was an "I'm the adult, and you're just a child; why are you being so demanding," kind of raised eyebrow.

Tom looked instantly remorseful and said humbly, "Please teach me to read."

So she did. It couldn't hurt anything to possibly give him something that would keep him out of her hair for good. And so it did.

After he had learned to read, he greedily read through every book in the orphanage, even the ones she wouldn't have thought would interest a child. Every time a new (new to him since most books coming in were one people had discarded) book was given to the orphanage, he would claim it. Not that most of the other children usually cared because they didn't care so much for learning and reading...it was just something they were required to do because people thought that they at least needed to give orphans a minimum of education.

He read the books so many times he probably had them memorized, and his voraciousness in acquiring knowledge did not endear him to the other children. In fact, as children will, they adopted him as an object to be picked on. But name calling didn't bother him, what could they say of him that didn't apply to them as well, unless it was something he actually considered a compliment?

Annoyed at his consistently ignoring their attempts at a new form of fun, one day the children decided to attack his beloved books rather than attacking Tom.

Mrs. Cole wasn't there to see it, and none of the children would really speak of what happened, but that was the first of the odd events that continued to happen. And every time they were connected to Tom.

After that, the other children left Tom and his books alone...so they never interacted unless Tom decided he wanted to come and mingle with them. But the relationships between him and the other children were always tense; they didn't relax in the presence of Tom. And whenever a new kid came to the orphanage, it wasn't long before the other kids educated him or her on "the way things are".

While inside this hurt Tom, he decided that he would rather just spend most of him time with his books anyway...the other kids were just stupid.

After Edward Nibley had attempted to set the book on fire, Tom couldn't say what exactly had happened. It was as though his emotion had surged out and caused the fire to catch on to the other boy. But that was impossible, right?

He was so different from the other kids...but he couldn't help but feel that his mother would have loved him anyway. She probably would have been proud and called him special. That was what Tom told himself over and over again in the dead of night: you're not weird or odd; you're special, and you're unique.

**Disclaimer: Just remembered I forgot to say that the disclaimer counts for all chapters of the whole story.**


End file.
